Can I help you, lady?
While groveling in the trees
by lonely moon,
today is what every tramp needs--
To be thrown out
without knowing the thinking
of gravelly gazing, Midnight
Gentlemen wearing out their larynxes
with unfiltered cigarettes.
Smoke wafting above the leaves
into the abyss--
Eternal chess matches
with elephant faced figures looking down
Decaying corpses of freshly gutted
deer next to an icy route 17
blood leaking out into whiteness to make red slushies
like the ones you used to get, as a kid,
at the Carnival.